


if i’m out of sight, then take another look around

by inmoonlightigetseasick



Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: Alternate Universe, David is a theatre critic, First Kiss, M/M, Patrick is an actor, a little role reversal at times, another take on their first meeting, patrick is the new kid in town
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-15
Updated: 2019-05-15
Packaged: 2020-03-05 23:13:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,443
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18838741
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inmoonlightigetseasick/pseuds/inmoonlightigetseasick
Summary: "In any other case he was used to attention from the press... But now, his heart was beating, loud, erratic at the sight of a mere byline."Patrick's just uprooted his life in LA, broken off his long-term engagement, to move to New York and pursue a career in theatre. When his first show (an off-off-off Broadway production of Cabaret) is completely panned by the most highly respected theatre critic in the city, he refuses to accept it, unwilling to let his burgeoning theatre career die before it even begins. So he decides to take matters into his own hands, and gets something entirely unexpected in return.





	if i’m out of sight, then take another look around

**** Patrick was a level-headed guy. He took each day as it came. For instance, this morning was one like any other. New York was loud, and crowded, and had a strange, muggy summer. But he didn’t mind it when he was in his favourite diner, tea in hand, listening only to the pleasant din of conversation among the morning rush. 

His manager was late to meet him. Again. That was normal. But when she arrived, newspaper in hand, he noticed she was struggling (poorly) to hide the sheepish look on her face. Right away, he knew something unusual was happening.

“Any breakfast, Twyla?” He asked, looking around for a waiter to flag down. 

“Oh, no thanks, I already ate,” she grinned, but the furrow remained in her brow. She stood there, hovering, and watching him for what seemed like a full minute of tense silence.

“Weird, since I thought we were meeting… for breakfast.” 

She just laughed nervously, clearly distracted. She still hadn’t even taken a seat. 

“Twyla,” he said slowly, “what’s going on?”

Her expression faltered, then. “The review for _Cabaret_ is out.” 

Patrick glanced down at the paper in her hands. It was the _Times_. Suddenly it clicked in his brain. Twyla handed it to him, and his suspicions were confirmed.

“Wait, _David Rose_ reviewed us?” For a tiny, off-Broadway production like theirs, he hadn’t expected this kind of publicity. He didn’t even know how _the_ New York Times theatre critic even got wind of their previews. 

Of course, in any other case he was used to attention from the press. In another life, back in LA—well. He and Rachel had graced the covers of People, US Weekly, you name it. Thinking about it, and the press, strangely brought up a lot of feelings. Back then he had almost entirely relied on her to lead him through the whole celebrity _thing._ And back then, he had been miserable. The whole relationship had been a disaster waiting to happen. And it had all happened in public. One broken engagement later, he was on the other side of the country. Without her. A little brokenhearted, but a lot more relieved. 

But now, his heart was beating, loud, erratic at the sight of a mere byline. 

“I heard Jocelyn knows Moira Rose,” Twyla supplied. 

Their director was a sweet woman, a former small-time actress herself she was now middle aged and trying her hand at directing. It makes sense she would travel in the same circles as the erstwhile star of the famous daytime soap, Sunrise Bay. Given Jocelyn’s directing style and penchant for melodramatics, he wouldn’t be surprised if the soap’s influence had trickled into their own production. Patrick liked Jocelyn, even if she was a bit scatterbrained at times. She had gotten their show to a good place in time for previews. They had a bit of work left to do, with previews done but still a week until opening, but he was happy with where they were. He smiled, sometimes it felt like his heart was expanding from how proud he was of their little team. 

“I guess showbiz really is all about connections.” Twyla laughed weakly.

“Do you want a seat, at least?” She was still hovering. 

She looked at the booth for a second before hurriedly sitting herself down. Patrick fiddled with the newspaper in his hands for a minute. Not knowing what to expect, he looked down, starting to read. 

“I just want you to know Patrick,” Twyla interrupted, and Patrick’s head shot up to look at her. “Whatever David Rose says, you guys worked really hard and did a great job and _you_ did a really brave thing moving out here. It wasn’t easy, and I know the press hasn’t been kind to you.”

“Well, you know everybody loves Rachel,” Patrick said a little bitterly, “I was always going to be the bad guy.” 

“But you’re not, Patrick, okay?”

“Okay,” he laughed. Then, he began to read the review and the smile quickly fell off his face. 

“Gaudy set design? Pithy… Painfully amateur?” Patrick heard his voice raising as he read the piece, his eyes darted back and forth along the page and found negative critique after negative critique. He felt gutted. Bad reviews had never really felt like this before. When he was starring in blockbusters based off of kids toys, he knew he wasn’t in the running for any Oscars. And, well, when he showed up to rehearsal in a dingy basement in Bushwick, he should have known _Cabaret_ wasn’t going to be up for any Tonys. 

Normally, he was great at managing his expectations. But this was _David Rose_. His critiques were make or break for Broadway. Patrick felt gutted, like he was being dismissed before he even got a start. 

Patrick knew he paid for excellent management because Twyla could see instantly that he was spiralling. She said his name, several times, as calmly as possible before he snapped into reality and looked up at her. 

“Was this all a big mistake?” Patrick asked. His voice was stretched thin by panic. 

“Read the last paragraph,” was all Twyla said. 

“The last…?” Patrick furrowed his brow but let his gaze drop to the end of the column. “Amid the ruins of this clumsy production, there is a singular, shining, treasure of an exception. Patrick Brewer.” He felt his jaw drop. He looked up at Twyla who was smiling encouragingly. 

“Keep going.”

“We all owe a huge debt of gratitude to whatever moved him from Hollywood to Broadway (or, close enough). On the stage, Brewer is free from the CGI hellscape that was hiding all his raw talent from the world. He is pure charm. Armed with a singing voice that fills the theatre from ceiling to floor, he captivates an audience without even trying. Patrick Brewer is a revelation.” 

Patrick’s mouth felt dry, suddenly. In fact, he had no idea how to feel. But, he just needed to be rational about this, strategic. This didn’t have to be a death sentence for their show. He could do something about this, get on top of it, regain control. After all, he was a take-charge kind of guy. 

“Twyla,” he said finally, “get me a meeting with David Rose.” 

 

— 

 

Blind confidence was part and parcel with taking charge, and Patrick was used to going into situations without really knowing what to expect. How else did he get into acting? Even then, confronting a critic? It was uncharted territory. 

Patrick knocked on his office door, a big slab of dark wood that stood out in the middle of the otherwise banal hallway in the New York Times building. He was suddenly filled with a sharp spike of dread. But it was too late to rethink anything. The door flew open and on the other side of it were the two biggest, bushiest eyebrows he’d ever seen in his life, and the face that they adorned was scowling. But the sour expression was not directed at Patrick, no, his gaze was fixed on the cellphone in his hand. So this was the famous David Rose. 

“Can I help you?” David said, still not looking up at him. 

“I certainly hope so.”

He looked up then, and his expression changed suddenly as he met Patrick’s gaze. His features softened and Patrick’s did too, in response, in relief. 

“Patrick Brewer?” he asked, the corner of his mouth twisted up into a little smile. Patrick felt a strange flutter in his stomach. He ignored it, only nodding in response to David’s question. “Come in.” 

He did. Stepping into David’s office he was greeted with a pleasant smell, which was likely from bonfire of candles burning in every corner of the room. David had decorated the space with dark furniture and plenty of plants. It looked more like a yoga studio than an office. David sat at his desk and gestured to the chair in front of him, Patrick sat down and David looked back at him expectantly. 

“So I’m obviously here to talk about your review of _Cabaret._ ”

David’s brows furrowed, “what about it?”

“Gee, I don’t know, maybe the fact that it was harsh and mean and callous and unfair? Maybe the fact that you barely gave us a chance—”

“Before you continue, I know you’re not from here, but you should know— I’m harsh. That’s just my style. If actual broadway can deal with it, then a favour I do for my mother will have to deal with it as well.”

Patrick sighed, frustrated, he opened his mouth to speak but David continued. 

“And if it’s really an issue why isn’t your director here to see me? Or your producer?”

“I didn’t talk to any of them before I came here.”

“Then why…?”

“Because of what you wrote about me.” 

Curiously, Patrick noticed a pink flush blooming on David’s cheeks. David opened his mouth and closed it, seemingly at a loss for words. He cleared his throat. 

“Um. It was true.”

“Sorry?” 

“What I wrote? About you. It was true.”

“Oh,” embarrassingly, now, for some reason Patrick was blushing. David’s words took on a strange, new resonance in Patrick’s heart when they came from the man himself, and not just the page. “Well. I’m flattered. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. Is that all?”

Patrick was incredulous, “No, obviously that’s not all.”

David smiled but it looked like a grimace, “So then what do you want?”

Patrick exhaled loudly, “I came here because when I read your review… it kind of crushed me. I felt like I needed to explain… This show, for me, is…well. I’m trying to start over.”

“I know.”

“You know?”

“Well, I read about you.”

“See! That’s the problem. I had no control about the ways the tabloids wrote about what happened and why I left—”

“I’m offended you think I read tabloids…”

“David,” Patrick said, exasperated. “I get that this is your job. But… Jocelyn Schitt isn’t exactly Stephen Sondheim, okay, she’s not Andrew Lloyd Webber— what, why are you laughing at me? What did I say now?”

“It’s nothing.”

“David.”

“It’s just… are those like the only two theatre people you can name?”

Patrick huffed, “I don’t know, didn’t Neil Patrick Harris host the Tonys once?”

David laughed out loud this time. Patrick looked at him, at a loss. He couldn’t help but smile as well. Who was this guy? 

“Are you done?”

David made a show of catching his breath and wiping his eye, as if he had laughed so hard he cried. As if it hadn’t been a few surprised, adorable giggles. Patrick rolled his eyes. Why did he think they were _adorable_?

“I’m sorry. Say what you were saying.”

“I want a chance to write my story in my own words. And, ironically, it was not my words but yours that came the closest to expressing what I have been trying to say.”

“So what do you want me to do?”

“Could you… give the show another chance? I mean, if you saw something redeeming about it in me, I mean, there’s still a week until we open so maybe we can improve it.” 

“Patrick, this isn’t _All About Eve_ , sometimes a review is just a review.” 

“What do you mean?”

“I can’t be a vehicle for your success. That’s not my job.” 

Patrick was stunned. For a minute, the air felt like it had been sucked from the room. Is that what he had been asking? That was exactly the kind of LA bullshit he had been trying to escape. “Oh. I hear it now. I realize how insanely selfish I sound. Wow.” 

“Believe me, I’ve seen worse.” 

“No, David. I apologize. This wasn’t… supposed to be about me.”

David looked at him and Patrick found himself unable to look back. The intensity of his gaze was strange, it made the room feel tense with something. Anticipation? Patrick took a breath, but before he could speak David interjected. 

“I can’t rewrite my review.”

Patrick nodded, screwing his eyes shut, hoping a deep breath would abate how suddenly embarrassed he felt.

“But,” David continued, and Patrick looked up at him then, still reluctant to hope for much. “I will do what I can to help your play.”

“That’s… really generous David, thank you but you don’t have to—”

“And by the way, if you read my review closely, I didn’t say _not_ to go see it.”

“Yeah but you called it ‘a _Twilight_ mom’s vision of pre-war Germany.’”

David had the grace to wince at that a little. “I did say that… but you have to keep in mind, audiences are so into irony these days. I bet you a bunch of little Brooklyn hipster couples will go, smoke pot, and call it ‘postmodern’ without knowing what that means.” 

“Yeah, I don’t know that that makes me feel any better.”

“I thought this wasn’t about you.”

Patrick smiled then, the tension from earlier suddenly dissipating.

“So how is it, exactly, that you plan on helping?”

 

—

 

“Good morning cast and crew!” Jocelyn wore her usual wide grin, but today it reached her eyes in a way that made her look slightly manic. 

Patrick was nested among the cast as they listened to her, he stood shoulder to shoulder with his favourite cast-mate and their Sally Bowles, Stevie. She was a recent grad from Tisch and she kind of had this badass, surly attitude where it seemed like she was totally over everything. It was a testament to her acting ability. Once you got to know her, she was a total softie. And she had a killer sense of humour to boot. She had become one of Patrick’s first friends in New York, and he wasn’t sure how he would have survived this play without her. 

“I know you have all been working really hard and we appreciate it just… so much! But…”

The cast collectively groaned. Jocelyn’s amateur directing had been a sore spot in the production. It didn’t help that she didn’t exactly know what she was doing, or that she and her husband had been blessed with a ‘miracle baby’ a few months prior to the show. The woman was stretched pretty thin. That meant a lot of surprise announcements— like, surprise! the babysitter cancelled and you guys are going to take turns blocking scenes and changing diapers— and a lot of strange things to prepare for with very little time. Today, Jocelyn topped herself. 

“We still have a week to go until we officially open. So, I’ve decided to call in the big guns.”

All their heads instinctively turned towards the entrance to the theatre. Instead, a booming voice sounded from behind the curtains instead. 

“And what truly tremendous ordnances they are!” Moira Rose—decked out in a get-up that could only be described as Cruella de Vil meets Elton John— burst out of the curtains onto the stage in front of them. Someone had trained a spotlight on her. 

“Is she mic’d?” Stevie whispered. 

Patrick had no words. And no time to say them even if they had existed. Jocelyn was holding a hand up to block the light that was somehow now directed right into her eyes. She cleared her throat to get their attention. 

“So guys, Moira has very kindly volunteered to direct you all in this last week of rehearsals. She’s going to give you that final push until opening night!”

“Push I will, Jocelyn! Push I will!” The burst of sound and feedback from Moira’s mic made everyone instinctively flinch. “I will push each and every one of you heaping lumps of coal until each one of you is an unrecognizable diamond by opening night.”

“Is this going to involve weights? Because my doctor said it’s medically unwise for me to lift heavy things,” Bob chimed in. 

Moira looked at him for a long moment. Then, evidently she decided he wasn’t worth the response, she turned to the rest of the group.

“Now, where is the effervescent Mr. Pat Brewer?”

Patrick suddenly felt the gaze of the whole cast turn to him. He raised his hand, waving meekly. He stepped forwards and extended a hand to shake. Moira lowered herself off the stage, andwalked up to him. Taking his hand in both of hers, she fixed him with an intense gaze ringed with black eyeliner. It was like she was trying to stare into his soul. Patrick smiled nervously back at her. 

“I hear you are our Emcee.”

“Yes, ma’am… that is the role… I was given.” 

“And, you come from Hollywood, Pat?”

“It’s where I got my start. But I’m trying to move past it.” 

“Hmm I see.” She stared at him for another long moment. The discomfort of it was starting to grate on Patrick. The cast was still behind him watching this whole exchange. His brain went into the default small-talk mode his Hollywood publicists had taught him for press tours. In that moment, he was strangely thankful for them. He found that he always fell back on this particular skill when he least expected it. 

“It’s really nice of you to come help Jocelyn, she’s done such a great job with us so far—”

“Pat, dear, I know just what kind of job you all have been doing here. I admit, David’s quill can, at times, be caustic but my boy means well. It did not escape my notice that he was not at all unkind about your performance, now was he?”

“Yes, I appreciated that Mrs. Rose—”

“Mom, we’re not doing Pat. In fact, we’re not doing any of this, what’s going on?”

And suddenly David was there. This time when everyone turned to the doors, there was a nearly six foot tall scowl in a rumpled designer sweater. He snatched his glasses off of his face and looked at his mother with an impatient frown. But then, his gaze turned to Patrick. And there it was again. All of his features softened. The beginnings of a smile. Patrick smiled back. 

“Hi David, it’s nice to see you again.”

“Yeah, totally, what’s going on here, why are you— why are you all talking to my mom?” He turned to the cast, still listless and gawking behind Patrick and Moira. 

Jocelyn spoke up then, “David, your mother has kindly stepped in as our director for this week.”

David turned to Moira then, his expressions transforming from shocked to just short of enraged. “When I asked if you would help with their play, I didn’t mean hijack their play!”

“What was I supposed to do, David! The state of it was far worse than even that review of yours foreshadowed!” 

“How is that even possible…?” Patrick said, under his breath. Behind him he heard Stevie snicker.

“I asked you if you could _consult._ ” David was almost yelling now. 

“Do you ask the Red Cross if they can _consult_ on a category five? David, this play is practically begging for _salvation!”_

Patrick watched the two of them fight for a moment longer, he was a little entranced by it. He could see where David got a lot of his quirks. Those eyebrows through, those must belong to his dad. Patrick wondered what _he_ was like. 

“Fine!” David shouted, apparently ending the fight. The cast looked on expectantly as Moira moved towards them, David stood where he was, suddenly absorbed in his phone. 

“Now,” Moira said, her voice as calm as the sea, “for today’s rehearsal, I want us to break into groups. Jocelyn, you can lead some vocal warm-ups.” 

Jocelyn gave a feeble thumbs up, shellshocked, like the rest of them by what they had just witnessed. Moira pushed past Patrick then, her heels clicking, and she disappeared backstage. The cast filtered into their groups, climbing up onto the stage. But Patrick lagged behind, and he walked up to David. 

“Don’t feel bad. You put up a valiant effort against her.”

David looked up, to his credit he looked a _little_ apologetic, “When she gets an idea in her head, it’s kind of hard get it out.” 

“Kind of an unstoppable force/immovable object kind of thing?”

“Yes, if by that you mean that she is always both at the same time.” 

“Are you sticking around for the vocal exercises? I hear they do _fat spatula_.” 

“Oh! No,” David said quickly, as if he was suddenly made aware of where he was, “I’m just in the neighbourhood for another preview that starts in a bit.” 

“I see. And do you think they’ll ‘have all the enthusiasm of a community college improv troupe and just as little talent’?” 

“Oh god,” David groaned, “you’re never going to let this go, are you?”

“Well, maybe in a couple of weeks when the show is over.” 

“Or maybe by the end of this one, when my mother kills you.”

“Look _alive,_ Stevie! This is a theatre I am running not a funeral home!” Moira’s shriek cut through the room in that moment. 

“I should go… help,” Patrick said then, looking back reluctantly to where Stevie looked equal parts ready to rip the hair out of Moira’s head, or her own. 

David nodded, “same here, I don’t want to miss my concert,” and he stepped backwards towards the entrance. 

“I thought you said it was a preview?” Patrick called after him, watching as he opened the door.

“Nice to see you too!” David said, momentarily bathed in a dash of sunlight, and then he was gone. 

Patrick turned around to join his group, “If we aren’t more warmed up than the other group by the end of this exercise, I’m switching teams.” 

 

—

 

The next day, Patrick walked into the dressing room to see David once again. But before he could talk to him, he noticed David in a very heated conversation with a tall, pretty girl. He wasn’t so much talking _to_ her as he was trying to talk _over_ her. 

“Mom, for the last time, _what_ is Alexis doing here?” At that moment Moira walked out of the dressing room towards the stage, calling after Jocelyn. To David’s apparent irritation, either she hadn’t heard him, or she didn’t want to hear him. Alexis certainly had, however. 

“David! That’s so rude, you should be happy to see me.”

“I didn’t say that! I just wasn’t clear on why you’re part of this show now apparently?”

“Well, I told you about the time the Pussycat Dolls didn’t want me because—”

“Because you were too pretty, yeah, I remember. What does that have to do with anything? They haven’t been relevant for years.”

“Ugh, fine, Stavros is in rehab again.” 

“Which Stavros?”

“Uh, Stavros, my boyfriend?”

“Right, but is he the one that abandoned you in Serbia, or the Hollister model?”

“Ew, David, as if I would ever date anyone who worked at the mall.” 

“I see. So then, what? You’re here to terrorize me out of boredom?”

“Who said this was about you? I’m helping mom.”

“With what?”

“She’s replacing the poor girl playing the lead.”

“With _you_?”

“Don’t sound so shocked David. Need I remind you about my critically-reviewed limited reality series—”

David covered his mouth with his hands, “No,” he said, muffled.

“What?” 

“Alexis. Please don’t.”

“Shut up, David. Oh look! Is that him? Go talk to your little button.”

David looked behind him and saw Patrick, the look on his face was one of mortification. Patrick wondered if he was the _little button,_ and if so, what on _earth_ that could mean. He raised his hand in a little wave. He noticed David was blushing. “His name is Patrick and he’s not _my_ anything, Alexis.”

“Yet,” and before he could do anything, she tapped his nose with her finger. Then she walked right up to him. 

“Hi,” he said, “I take it you’re David’s sister?” 

She extended her hand towards him which he took, “The one and only Alexis Rose.” 

“Well it’s nice to meet you.”

“Not as nice as it is to meet _you_ , Mr. Button.”

“Oh, it’s Brewer actually.”

She suddenly laughed, a loud high pitched giggle. “You’re funny!” 

Patrick smiled back nervously, “Thanks?”

Finally, it seemed like David had had enough and he walked over to them. “Are you just about done here, Alexis?” 

“What, I’m just saying hi to my potential new co-star!”

“As if they’re going to recast the lead with less than a week before they open!”

“I don’t know David, I’ve been on sets where people learned their lines the day before they were set to perform.” 

“Yeah David, in acting school, they tell you to be prepared for anything.” 

“Do you think I should ask NYU for my money back, then?” Stevie had appeared then, beside David, with a coffee in her hand. She sipped it thoughtfully. Patrick grinned. 

David offered Stevie a wry smirk in appreciation. Alexis pursed her lips, “Well, when I was in Sweden, my friend asked for her cellphone back from the leaders of the cult we were staying with and they asked for her Tiffany bracelet and a lock of her hair, so… it might be more like an exchange for store credit kind of deal.” 

“Oh, I don’t have anything from Tiffany’s, do you think they’d take hospital bracelets?”

Alexis looked mildly horrified, Stevie smiled wide in satisfaction. David’s smile grew a little wider. 

“Where’s this person when you’re on stage, Sally? I like her.”

Stevie turned to David then, her eyes narrowed, suspicious, “This is Stevie, and your approval doesn’t really mean anything to me, sorry.” 

“Well then you should probably act like it.”

“What part of—”

“Onstage, I mean.” 

“If you think—”

“Look you can be passionate, you can be convincing. Be more like you on stage, and I’ll tell my mom not to replace you.” Then, waving his hands in the air in a dramatic flourish David turned and walked wordlessly out of the dressing room in search of his mother

“Wait,” Alexis shouted after him, “David! I haven’t even auditioned for them yet!” Making a frustrated noise, she bounded after him, her heels making a clipping noise along the theatre floor. 

“Stevie… please tell me you’re not getting replaced,” Patrick said, only a little worried. It was ridiculous to replace the lead with one week until they opened. Right? But then again, the Roses were kind of ridiculous people.

“I don’t know, Patrick,” Stevie feigned an exaggerated nervous tremor to her voice, “David called my interpretation of Sally _cold_ and _reluctant_.” 

“He does have such a way with words.”

“Like I give a fuck about what he thinks.”

“Oh, I don’t know he may have made some valid points. Like the part about the Emcee.”

“Shut up, Brewer, we all know you have a huge crush on him.”

“I don’t— what? Who said that?” 

“No one needed to say anything.”

“Well for what it’s worth you could sing a little louder.” Patrick said under his breath. 

Stevie scoffed. “Taking your boyfriend’s side already. I see how it is.”

“He’s not my—!” But Stevie had already walked out of the dressing room. 

But she bounded back in a second later. “I’m not getting replaced. Apparently the Pussycat Dolls called Alexis back last minute.” 

 

— 

 

David came to rehearsal the next day too. And the day after that. Eventually, the cast started getting used to his presence. Patrick even grew fond of it a bit. David’s presence, in fact his very _being_ , was becoming this mysterious, intoxicating thing. The more he got to know this ridiculous person, the tugging against his heart grew more severe. David was even slowly starting to be friends with Stevie, their dark and irreverent personas finding a match in each other. It warmed Patrick’s heart a little, but also made him a little jealous for David’s attention. _That_ was another strange feeling. Choosing to focus on the show, he left these things to be analyzed another day. 

Today, David was with Patrick, in the dressing room as usual. David was picking idly at some pieces of fabric, and Patrick having just been released from the group warmups was going over his script as he waited to be called for his scenes. Thanks to David’s review. Moira was fixated on ‘improving’ Stevie. Patrick had a lot more spare time now. It just meant choosing to focus on the show would now have to be a very active choice. 

“Would you mind running this scene with me? I just can’t seem to get this one part.” Patrick looked up from his script expectantly. David froze.

“Oh… no, I’m not part of this,” he waved his hands around, “whole thing.” 

“Right, so then why are you here, again?”

“Well, if you must know. I have some connections in the fashion world and there are some Fashion Week rejects that I snagged for your costume… department… if you can call them that.” 

“I think her name is Gwen.” 

“Sure.”

“And you got us rejects?”

“Yeah,” David looked at Patrick, incredulous, as if he couldn’t fathom his own absurdity. And Patrick supposed to a certain extent, he really couldn’t. 

“You really know how to make a guy feel special.” 

David burst out into a bright, awkward laugh at that. He grinned at Patrick, not his usual tight-lipped smile, but a true grin. Patrick smiled back, feeling a little stunned.

“As much as you might merit designer, Jocelyn put a cap on my mother’s production budget.”

“Why on earth would she do that?”

“Something about this being a community theatre production and not a Moira Rose vanity project? I don’t know, really.” 

“Okay, well maybe Bob’s available to help with this…” 

“Hand it to me.” 

“Really?” Patrick couldn’t help the stupid grin that took over his face. 

David rolled his eyes, he looked anywhere but at Patrick. Wordlessly, he stretched out his hand and Patrick passed him the script. He glanced at it, brows furrowed. Patrick noticed the little wrinkle in his forehead, as his eyes scanned the page. 

“How did you get into acting?”

“I don’t think that’s the line, David.”

He looked up and rolled his eyes. Patrick smirked.

“I went to theatre high school, and that’s where I met Rachel. When she moved out to LA, I followed her.”

“Did you follow anyone here?” David’s question was casual, but it ignited something in Patrick’s chest. Maybe he was just reading into things. Either way, he was quick to answer.

“No. Nope.”

“Is it… would it be bad if I asked why?”

Patrick sighed then, but he felt himself tensing up. He couldn’t look right at David just then, so he stared into the blank wall beside him. 

“You don’t have to answer—”

“It was because I was tired of lying to myself. About certain things. And choices that I was making.”

David looked at him for a long moment. “I think that’s a really brave thing you did.” 

Patrick smiled, small and genuine. “Could I ask you a favour, David?” 

David’s lips twitched upwards, “Sure.”

“Could you go see if Bob is free to run this scene with me?”

“Oh my god!” David said, flipping through the script irritated. 

“Why are you still sitting there?”

“I’m trying to find the lines… I don’t remember you having any lines.”

“I don’t. It’s a dance scene.” Patrick pressed his lips together to keep from laughing at the utterly betrayed expression on David’s face. “Get up. I just need a body.” 

“Then find a mannequin!” 

Patrick sighed, finally, pushing past David to lean out the door, “Bob!”

“Okay, fine!” and David stood up. 

 

—

 

On the morning of their official opening, Patrick got in late. Except instead of rehearsal, it seemed like he had walked into an earthquake. The cast was gathered around the front of the stage, as from behind it the cacophony of another one of David and Moira’s fights was blasting full force, as if someone had forgotten a speaker back there. Patrick, unlike the rest of the class, didn’t really have a survival instinct, so he stepped right up to the curtain and peeked through.

“—and it’s completely like you so don’t even worry about it!”

“Oh David, you know the show has taken up every square inch of space of my mind. And with your father away on business… I would have remembered!”

“Like I said, don’t worry about it.”

“Dear, they’re calling me for last minute checks, I really must go.” 

“Fine!”

Moira pushed past him, through the curtain, she kicked up a flurry of sequins and black feathers. Patrick spit one of them out of his mouth as he made his way backstage. David barely noticed, turned away, his head hunched over his phone as usual. 

“Hey, is everything okay?”

He whipped around towards Patrick then, a sour expression on his face that reminded Patrick of the day they first met. But it was different today, it didn’t fall away as easily. David wasn’t scowling when he looked at Patrick, but he also didn’t offer an easy smile. 

“Everything’s fine. Why wouldn’t it be?”

“Well, the walls are pretty thin at the theatre to begin with and you and your mom just had the curtain…”

“You heard all of that?”

“Well, no I just got here but Bob tells me it’s been going on for a while?”

“It’s nothing.”

“It doesn’t seem like—”

“Okay, well, are you prepared to hear the answer to your question? Because it’s a list.”

“Do your worst.” 

David looked surprised for a minute. That familiar hint of a smile was starting at the corners of his lips. Those brows of his still told a different story, scrunched up in annoyance. 

“Alright. First of all, Ronnie, my editor, has been on my case about this revival of _Newsies,_ of all things, that she _insists_ is worth my time.” 

“We could all stand to keep up on current events.” 

“Funny,” David deadpanned.

“Is that all? I’ll go see it with you if you want—”

“No that’s not all! I’m also going through the ringer trying to track down a source for this wig my mother absolutely _must_ acquire for Sally.”

“Have you tried Party City?” 

David placed his hand over his mouth and he tilted his head back, as if Patrick had knocked the wind out of him. Patrick did his best not to laugh but he had never seen anyone so _physically_ respond to anything he’d ever said like that. 

“I can go help you find a wig if you really need—”

“Oh! Right.” David shot up, raising his voice, “On top of both those things— my whole family forgot my birthday.” 

Patrick gasped in exaggerated horror, “You’re an opening night baby?”

David looked at him like he’d grown a second head. “A what?”

“Oh, well it’s like a Christmas baby but ten times worse. How did you survive it? What was your childhood like?”

David turned away from him, desperately pressing his lips together to keep from breaking out into a grin, but failing. “Stop making me laugh. I’m upset.” 

“New York people sure look funny when they’re upset.”

“You need to stop talking about how you’re not from here. It’s getting really old,” he said with such a grin there was no way Patrick could mistake it for anything other than fondness. It made Patrick feel a little helpless, the sight of it. And Patrick wasn’t really used to feeling like that. So he got a little bolder. 

“So do you have any plans tonight?”

“I just told you my whole family forgot. I think my Dad’s in Switzerland right now.”

“Friends?”

“They, um. They’re all on an art retreat in Europe.”

_Then why are you here?_ Patrick wanted to ask. He wasn’t sure he was ready for the answer. If it wasn’t the one he was already holding in his heart. Speaking of which, his pulse was suddenly on the uptick. He could feel a bit of sweat, suddenly. _Oh_ , he realized, _I guess I’m doing this_.

“Have you ever been to the Café Tropical,” he asked, his best attempt at casual, “the little diner down the street?”

“No, that place looks gross.”

“It has its charms.”

“Yeah. I don’t know if I believe you.”

“Why don’t I take you? You can see for yourself.”

“What?”

“For your… birthday. We could go.”

“You don’t have to do that.”

“No, I’d… I’d like to.”

“Okay.”

Patrick’s heart leaped in his chest. 

“But wait. It’s opening night.”

“So?” Did that matter anymore? Did anything matter anymore? Now that he was going on a date with David. The thought of it felt like a burst of sunlight.

“Won’t you have like a cast…thing?”

“I think they’d survive if I skipped it.” 

“Oh. Well. If you’re sure.” 

“I’m sure.” 

“Okay.”

“Can I meet you after the show?”

“I’ll be by the entrance.” 

“Great.” They stared at each other for a moment, the air between them tense with something. Probably nerves, Patrick reckoned. The show was about to go on. Again. 

“Well, I should go. Figure out this wig situation.” David touched Patrick’s arm before he left, and it must be those wool sweaters, and all that static, but Patrick felt a jolt where David’s hand had been. He touched the spot absently, lost in a giddy feeling. 

Then David ducked his head back in the room. “Also, if you don’t mind making sure you get all the makeup off after you finish up, I don’t want to look like two theatre kids commiserating at an iHop, and my look can’t be helped, so…” He gave Patrick that wry, tight lipped smile. 

Patrick sighed, “I hate to break it to you, David, but there’s no use running away from what we are.” 

David clasped a hand over his mouth in exaggerated shock. Patrick grinned. 

“See you _after_ the show,” he said, shooing David out. Patrick felt the way his heart was beating practically out of his chest, in that moment, and he blamed it on stage fright. 

 

—

 

Patrick felt electric. That was maybe the best performance he had ever done in his life. Moira, for all the work and suffering she put them through this week, had genuinely created magic. Or as she put it, Jocelyn had loosened the pickle jar, and she had ‘merely popped the lid.’ Boy had it popped, in fact, it had skyrocketed. And when Patrick thought about how he had dinner with David to look forward to, he felt like he was made of pure energy and light. 

He turned the corner, walking up to the main doors of the theatre where David waited for him, staring at his phone. He had a self-conscious tilt to his shoulders, he had changed sweaters. It was a black one with a big white lightning bolt across the chest. How apt. When he looked up at Patrick, approaching, his whole face changed. His shoulders straightened, his lips pulled back helplessly into a smile and he held up a hand to wave at him, his rings glinting in the yellow light of the theatre. Patrick smiled back, he didn’t know what else he could have possibly done in that moment. 

“Hi,” David said as Patrick finally walked up to him. 

“What did you think?” 

“What did I think?” David asked, incredulous. “It was amazing.”

The breathless way he said it made Patrick feel reckless. Perhaps he could blame it on the adrenaline, but an irresistible force made it so that with these words, Patrick was stepping closer and wrapping David in a hug. Caught by surprise, David was tense for a second before he wrapped his arms around Patrick, who felt the warmth of him pressing in on all sides. In that moment, he could have melted. David rested his chin on Patrick’s shoulder. Patrick often noticed their height difference, and he had always liked it, but it was even nicer experienced while wrapped up in David’s arms. 

“So, it wasn’t ‘painfully amateurish’?” Patrick teased. 

He couldn’t see but he knew David rolled his eyes. He still hadn’t let go.

“Marked improvement.” 

“Wow, can I get that in writing?”

“Alright, it’s gone to your head already,” David said, letting go then, finally, he pulled back but still kept his hands on either one of Patrick’s arms, squeezing the top of his biceps gently, as if he were holding him in place. _I’m not going anywhere_ , Patrick thought.

“What has?”

“Celebrity. Fame. Influence.” David’s hands moved away from him finally to wave around in the air in those wild _David_ gestures that Patrick was so fond of. He missed the way David held him as soon as his touch disappeared. Patrick had never felt this off-kilter from post-show adrenaline before. His heart scrambling, he realized he would have to contend with the fact that this was something more. 

“Soon you’ll make it to actual Broadway, and then you’ll have girls throwing themselves at you for an autograph.” David said. Patrick chuckled at that. As if there was anyone he wanted more just then but the person standing in front of him right now. That was kind of a scary thought. 

“I think it’s a little late for that, I—”

“And you already have it in writing!”

“What?” 

“All those nice things I said about you!” 

“What nice things, exactly?”

“Okay. You’re funny. Let’s go to the restaurant now.” And David turned and began walking down the street. Patrick smiled looking after him for a little bit before he followed, several steps behind. 

“Am I a revelation, David?” Patrick called after him. 

David turned, smirking at him, “You’re a pain in the ass.” 

Patrick caught up to him then. “I thought I was ‘pure charm.’”

“I mean from afar, definitely. I stand by that.”David grinned. _Terrible liar_ , thought Patrick. 

“Don’t I captivate an audience without even trying?” 

“So did Charles Manson.”

 

—

 

They got to the restaurant— well, diner. Café Tropical was a strange place, but at least it was open at this hour. It was cozy, and reminded Patrick of home. Not LA, but the actual small town where he grew up, which David would no doubt find hilarious. 

“You’re late,” Stevie’s voice sounded suddenly. From Patrick’s favourite booth. And then Patrick’s stomach plummeted. Feeling strangely distant from his body, he followed David to the booth. 

“Hey, Stevie.” Patrick laughed nervously, he was worried he sounded weird, he cleared his throat, “David didn’t mention you’d be joining us.” 

“He didn’t?”

David winced a little, glancing between the two of them, “Didn’t I?”

“No worries, the more the merrier! I’m just going to head to the restroom. I’ll be right back.” Patrick felt like he was talking way too quickly. He heard himself. He heard the way his sentences were clipped unnaturally. As soon as the door closed behind him, he heaved a sigh, and leaned heavily against the sink. 

He just needed a minute to collect himself. This was stupid. He was working himself up over nothing. But. What had he said that didn’t make clear that this was a date? Had he been too oblique? He had hesitated to say anything too direct, lest he scare David off, but in truth he was afraid to say too much as well. This was the first time he’d _felt_ something, something _right_. It felt so completely natural the way his heart leapt at the sound of David’s laugh. The way his stomach fluttered sometimes in his presence. It felt like how it was supposed to feel. 

Normally, he could do this. He could say how he felt. But nothing about his life had been normal in the past few months. He looked up in the mirror at his eyes, still smudged with the last remnants of his heavy stage makeup. He watched himself breathe.

But his feelings were now so big. So much. He worried if he had said them they would be overwhelming. Burdensome. He had painstakingly practiced nonchalance to save himself the embarrassment of these feelings being opened up, picked at. But maybe he had screwed up his chance, somehow, by not expressing enough? 

He glanced at the door. He wasn’t going to find out in here. 

 

—

 

“Um. David,” Stevie said, the minute Patrick was out of earshot,“I kind of feel like I’m crashing a date.” 

“It’s not a date. He’s straight.” 

“Did he tell you that?”

“He didn’t have to. It’s a heteronormative society, remember?”

“Yeah, and you’re the one normalizing it.”

“He wears straight-leg, mid-range denim and he had very public relationship with a woman like four months before moving here!” 

“That doesn’t mean anything!”

“Did he tell _you_ this was a date?”

“He didn’t even know I was coming!”

“Well, it’s my birthday so technically, I control the guest list.” David huffed.

Stevie fixed him with a pointed glare. “If this isn’t a date, then why did he bring you a gift?”

“What?”

David looked down to where Stevie pointed, the corner of a box, wrapped with a black and white wrapping paper was sticking out of Patrick’s bag. At first David thought of excuses, maybe it was an amazon order. But the curly silver ribbons and bow kind of gave it away. Stevie reached down and pulled it out.

“What are you doing?”

“We’ll say one of us knocked his bag over and it fell out.”

“Stevie. I can’t do that.”

“Why not? I can tell the lie—”

“It’s not that.” Something shifted in David’s expression, then, like a shutter had lifted. “I’ve done this before. I can’t do this again.”

“What?”

“Gotten my hopes up? For someone who doesn’t feel that way back.”

“David, if you don’t think Patrick… look. If there is anything remotely sentimental in this gift, then this is a date, and you’re not the only one.”

David looked at the box, which Stevie had placed on the table in front of them now, unsure. 

 

—

 

When Patrick got back to the table he was further mortified to see his cheesy gift was sitting on the table. Stevie and David wore matching cat-eating-canary expressions as they watching him come back. 

“I see you found my gift,” he said, as he slid into the booth beside Stevie. 

“Open it, David,” Stevie said, the traitor.

“No, maybe… maybe you should save it for later. It’s nothing.” Patrick reached his hand out to grab the box, trying to pull it back. 

“Patrick, no, this is really sweet,” David held on to it, making a big show of pulling it towards him, like an exaggerated tug-of-war. Patrick relented. “No one else remembered or anything. So. Thank you.”

“You’re going to be so underwhelmed, David, really,” Patrick said, wincing as David tore open the packaging. 

He pulled the DVD case out and laughed, loud and bright and beautiful. He looked at Patrick, his eyes shining, “All About Eve?”

“The day we met. Um. In your office. You said sometimes a review is just a review, but, I think that, unexpectedly your review became something… more. A new friend.” 

David pressed his lips together, as if trying to contain the force of his smile. “This is not nothing,” he said. Patrick smiled back at him, breathing out, relieved. Stevie had a wide grin on herself, and she looked at David conspiratorially. 

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry. I just remembered I have to go, I have a thing.” David rolled his eyes. Patrick slid out of the Booth to let Stevie go. “Happy birthday, David!” She said, making her way out of the diner.

“Should we order? I hear great things about the mozzarella sticks.”

“Sure.” And Patrick moved to flag down a waiter. 

“You know,” David said as they waited for their food, “I was just thinking about it and in the context of the movie the reviewer guy kind of sucks. So I don’t know if I should be flattered or insulted.” 

“Full disclosure, David, I have not seen it.”

“Well then I know what we’re doing this weekend.”

“I have the show.”

“After the show.”

 

—

 

They finished dinner far too soon, Patrick thought. But, by the time they spilled out into the New York night, it was decently late. David was yawning in a way that Patrick thought was cute and charming, and he had literally never thought those things about a person’s _yawn_. 

“I’m driving to Manhattan, can I give you a lift?” Patrick said, concerned for the way David’s eyes were drooping. 

“That would be nice.”

They rounded the block to where Patrick had parked his car. David piled in, folding himself into the passenger seat. Patrick drove them through the streets, which were quiet for New York, until they made it into the sleepless Manhattan. They drove mostly in companionable silence, with David waking up a bit more to direct Patrick once they got closer. 

“I have a GPS, you know,” Patrick teased.

“Yes but why bother her at this hour.” 

Patrick pulled up in front of David’s apartment.

“This was fun,” David said, “even that strange creepy little diner.” 

“Well, I told you it had its charms.”

“You did.” David looked at Patrick then, and Patrick looked back. He noticed how David’s eyes sparkled, catching the lights of the city from outside. He noticed how David’s lips curled, that strange, fascinating mouth. He simultaneously realized that he was staring at David’s mouth and David was staring at his. But fear seized him once again, for a final, frozen second. Then David leaned forwards, and then Patrick realized he was leaning forwards. 

And then they kissed. And it was gentle, but it made an incredible warmth travel through Patrick’s whole body. And their mouths fit together like a dream. And Patrick could feel scratch of his stubble. And he had only started to melt into it when they pulled away. But it was enough. He looked at David. He tried to remember how to speak. 

“Thank you,” he managed. 

“You’re welcome.”

“That was my first time. With a guy.”

David smiled reassuring, he reached his hand over the console and placed it in Patrick’s. Patrick held it tight, as if for support. 

“I was scared. That this all… might be a bit too much,” Patrick said. But David shook his head, bringing up their joined hands, he kissed Patrick’s knuckles. 

“It was just right.” 

Patrick breathed out, relieved, light as air. Then he burst out laughing as he watched David’s face twist to stifle a yawn.

“You need to get some sleep. Can we talk tomorrow?”

“Of course.”

“After the show.” 

**Author's Note:**

> thanks to davidrosed and hullomoon on tumblr for the prompt!  
> apologies for my next to nothing knowledge on theatre  
> title from shut up kiss me by angel olsen


End file.
